A Clockwork Orange
by Cult Grade Koolaid
Summary: Come with me, my friends, as I take you on the journey through my mind. Enter my intoxication. Will it make you believe? Or will you turn your back on me? Will my acts of indecency lose you? I kid you not, my friends. Not everything is a clockwork orange. AU. Dark. Psychological. Twisted. First POV. KxZ/ZxK?
1. ACO 1

**Warnings: OOC (especially this one!), rape, drugs, death, violence, language, and again - OOC!**

**A Clockwork Orange**

* * *

Lightning flashed through the dark sky, bringing a warning of a terrible storm. The thunder seemed louder than usual. The sparse raindrops sounded like the drumming of impatient fingers. For all I knew, it could have been the drumming of fingers. Unfortunately, I was in a black abyss. I was unable to see two inches in front of my face. I kid you not, my friends. Some might say that wasn't unusual for me. But I didn't like feeling helpless.

The darkness surrounded me, and left me with nothing but the feeling of unrest. The air was thick. This was strange, as there was no air. The abyss was empty. But that didn't stop the heavy tension.

Accusing whispers floated around. The voices were harsh, raspy as though gasping for one last breath of air. Some sounded as though they were garbled, speaking under water. Disdain tainted their words. Venom was weaved into their sentences. And still there was no-one to be seen.

Footsteps echoed through the chasm. I was almost certain that I wasn't the one creating them. They sounded like heels. A strong scent invaded my nose. The scent of sage. Cold, bony fingers ran down the back of my neck. I reached behind me, hoping to get their wrist. There was nothing. No presence. No person. Only the sinking.

Once again, lighting flashed. Once again, I could not see anything. Even with the light I was blind. I couldn't feel the rain, but it had to be hitting something. Even with the brief flashes of light, I had no idea where I was. Was I indoors or out? I knew that if I turned in all directions, I would see the exact same thing. Nothing.

The whispers came to an abrupt halt. I was grateful for that. They were getting more intense, almost to the point where they would deafen me. If I were human. I kid you not, my friends. Somewhere, in the darkness, someone began playing the violin. I knew the piece of music. It was saddening, poetic. A fitting end to a great king. All these thoughts came to me. And still I could not remember where I had heard that music before.

And like the flick of a switch, the sun came up. I was outdoors, in the middle of a beautiful forest. The leaves danced in an unknown wind source. I was standing next to the plants; I should have been feeling it. The dappled shadows twisted to their own music. On my back, I could feel the heat of flames.

They were embracing. I wanted to give myself over to them, as a sudden chill ran through my body. How could I be in the sunlight, with flames eating at my flesh and still feel cold? There was still fight in me, even though they thought I had given up. That wasn't something I could continue to let them think.

With that thought, I was caste back into the darkness. The flames no longer tried to kill me. Unlike the plants of the changing seasons, I was left perplexed. What could be toying with me in such a way?

Out of nowhere, I heard the voices. I kid you not, my friends. They sounded angry, as all of them chanted:

_Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele_

_Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!_

_Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle_

_Weinend sich aus diesem Bund!_

My heart felt like a squirrel on meth. Why would such anger be thrown at me? What did I do? My life was not one that I wanted. But when can we ever change that? I did everything I could. I wanted to get those. Those, who would not listen, they had to be punished, my friends.

The voices continued to shout those words at me. Possibly the voices of those that had to be punished. That didn't change anything for me. I would stand by my convictions, and I didn't care who they hurt. If they were weak enough to feel the pain, what good were they? All they needed to was to close their eyes. Listen. Breathe.

One would choke on the energy building up here. The vile spew of that which only seeks to harm me. Their anger could not be matched by the contempt that welled deep inside my own being. They could try whatever they wanted, but there wasn't a fibre of my soul that would bend. The cadence of their chanting would likely infect a horse with the murderous vibe. And if I thought of it any longer, I would probably join that beast.

Blood gushed like a geyser. Around me they danced. Several of the towers of the liquid erected to greet me. Nothing like I had ever seen before. They damned up energy from everywhere around me. They likely took some of mine, too. The retched blemishes should enjoy what little time they have left to play with me.

I hold my arms out. Like a child on Christmas morning, heaven's door is before me. Everything I have ever wanted from this life is waiting for me. I turn, enjoying the spray of the blood. Such a horror would be placed on their faces, should they see me. The monster I am. The beast that needs to be hunted. It doesn't stop the demon inside me from sticking my tongue out, enjoying the taste of the blood. It rolls down the back of my throat. Should I rejoice, my friends? Should I leave behind everything that makes me who I am? Should I be what they all wanted me to be? The vile spew can have this little victory, for I am sure they will not remember it.

The haemoglobin drips off my body. It doesn't stick; doesn't stain. I don't question it. Why should I? When has anything in my life ever made sense? Knowing that the vital fluid does not stick to me makes me feel as giddy as a schoolgirl. Laughter explodes from my throat, amidst the blood that had been gathering in my mouth. Their chanting gets louder, almost as though the opera was drawing to a close.

As they chanted, I pretended that I was the conductor. They weren't out of sync, but I wanted to have my fun. My almost insulting actions made them madder. My laughter got louder the more they screamed. I kid you not, my friends. The vile spew was more agitated than ever. They wanted to pick me up and shake me. They wouldn't know why. But they would shake until their arms fell off. They would continue until they were yellow, or some other colour. Only to find that once they were done with me, they would sink further down than I ever did.

Oh yes, my friends. I sank. You could ever say I was sinking now. But you know what I would say to that? There is nothing you can say that probably isn't true. I was like a leaf on the ocean, rolling and twisting in the waves. I couldn't find a way home. But I always knew where it was, even if I didn't. To say 'home is where the heart is', is the biggest load I've ever heard. You need to know where your heart is first. If you don't know that, then there is no place for you. You will likely finding me standing over your corpse. Dancing in your blood.

But if you find yourself coming to terms with your worshipped deity, then I have only one thing to ask. Do you honestly believe you were put on this earth to find your maker? If you believe that, then in a way I pity you. The vile spew that surrounds me pity you, also. You found something none of us ever could. We exist for your pleasure. As such, we embrace you. We try to win you over. We are not the devil. But the evil spew is close enough to the devil. If they can haunt a demon, what could they do to you, my friends?

The chanting reaches it climax. As soon as it goes deathly silent, a light appears. Several yards from me, a king sized bed sits in the darkness. The blood red silk sheets glimmer and entice in the light. They beckon to me. They call me to go forth and see. What would I witness, if I were to go? Would I see myself hanging from a tree, with thirty pieces of silver around my feet? Would I see myself leading a group of people to stab our ruler? Would I see myself being tortured in the ninth ring of hell? I have no answers. And if I want them, I must move towards the bed.

How I pity the vile spew. The warts on the nose of humanity, as they are. The retched blemishes. The pus-weeping boils have nothing better to do with their time. They terrorise the one that turned me into the heavy piles of mucus. I wish I had nothing better to do with my life. They probably wished the same thing. After all, I might be the one responsible for them being there. I might be the one responsible for them becoming vile spew. They have no accused me for a while. I have to wonder what is taking them so long in taking their revenge upon me.

At the side of the bed, I stared down. My eyes widened. I could feel the lust (or even bloodlust) playing through them. For on that bed was something so delicious, so rare that many authors have written about them. Vampires search long and hard, trying to find one that suits their tastes. And I kid you not, my friends, I got to viddy one writhe on the bed like a wanton slut. How one could act like that, not knowing what they were doing, enthralled me.

I watched, knowing that I had an eternity. But alas, she did not.

Her beautiful alabaster skin glistened in the light. Her light blond hair sprayed around her head like a half-halo. Her baby blues were half-open. They begged me to do what my kind was known for doing. I wanted to waste no time in doing that. All I could do was stand witness to an enchanting virgin. Her body twisted and arched in ways that I had long forgotten.

I kneeled on the bed, running a hand over an exposed breast. She moaned, her hand slipping between her legs. I snarled and, before she could even begin to comprehend what pleasure is, I ripped out her throat. Her blood ran down my chin, onto my chest and stained my pants. I never understood why I wore white at times. A virgin's blood is even harder to get out of clothing.

I drank whatever I wanted from her wound. I threw her body off the bed once her heart had stopped beating. The memory of her sweet blood would last me through my years. One does not forget a virgin's taste, my friends. Savouring it until we die. Our insides ripped out. Through it all it will be with us. An intoxication that so few get to enjoy. The knife of it stabbing you. The joyous pain will last a lifetime.

I lay my head to rest. Behind my lids I see nothing, but the sweet tendrils of pasts to come. A yearning that burns so hot it leaves unseen scars. That, my friends, is why you breathe. It is why you scream injustice. The invisible flames devour everything in its path. But it still leaves us begging. Why do we long for it so much? The sweet scent of ditva lingers.

I open my glazz. Above is the one I wish I could erase. I would call him my droog, but I know that none are faithful. Loyalty is a lost art. I have searched for it, as I had searched for a maiden like the one I had feasted on. Such poor tastes had left the world in the gutter. The bolnoy ooze of this world only remains to taint it. The vile spew of everything that was once gorgeous. A blemish in the solar system.

The malchick reaches down for my shirt. His hands take a detour, and wrap around my gorlo. I guff at him. What does he think he can do? Does he think he can vred me? I await to viddy his next actions. His fingers tighten. Maybe he was serious about this. The knife stabs again.

Such a waste, I think. I kid you not, my friends. To see the one I would call droog with his hands around my throat, it can leave scars. It can very well mess with the moral fabric that makes a person who they are. But he does it without hesitation. I admire his guts. I would admire them more if I could rip them out. I would make him squirm, scream, beg and not give him anything. I would not let him get away with this injustice.

To begin my story, I guess I should wake up. You will see the way I view this world. The vile spew that festers, overstaying its welcome, refuses to leave me be. The horrid stench of life is nothing if not common. So tell me, my friends, are you ready to take the journey with me?


	2. ACO 2

**A Clockwork Orange**

* * *

There was a lot of chirping. The insects seemed extremely happy about the feast they were anticipating. I kid you not, my friends. Their animal instincts sensed more than any human. I looked forward to giving them what they wanted. I just needed the right victim.

As I walked down the street, I had a couple of people with me. I don't know if they were to help or hinder. I generally enjoy these little walks. To see the vile spew continue on with their lives was occasionally interesting. They liked to pretend they had sophistication. Anyone could see that they were only posers. My greatest challenge would be deciding which one should go first.

Not all of them seemed happy to see someone like me walking down the street. That didn't bother me in the slightest. There were just some that thought they were the greatest thing since sliced bread. They had no feelings for the rot they stepped on to get to the top. In a way, the vile spew and I had a lot in common. I kid you not, my friends. I have to fight with myself to make sure I don't do what the blemishes are known for doing. They have no feelings. If they were replaced with lumps of wood, the timber would be more popular.

I stare down a few of them. They can't handle someone that would fight back. That's fine with me. They have nothing I want. Aside, of course, from their blood. Most of them would leave a sickening aftertaste. If it meant removing them from this plain of reality, there wasn't anything I wouldn't do to make this city a little better. All the vile spew was good for was a little disgusting snack. There were times when I lost myself to the wonderful bloodlust that would course through my veins. The most beautiful of which would be when it happens at parties.

The thought of killing everything in sight could get a godman off.

I look over my choice for the night. The knife stabs. Perhaps I shouldn't have done what I did. That didn't stop me from wanting to do it again. There was such joy in that act, my friends. I wished I could relive that moment for the rest of my life. The more I replayed it in my mind, the clearer it becomes. I was here for one reason. I was the one who would be responsible for cleaning up everything that lays rotting in the gutter. And believe, my friends, there is a lot of filth.

The chasmic vile was before me. I would have to work fast. If the malchick found me out, he would stop at nothing. Noble as that might be, I was not looking forward to that ditva. I needed to stay as who I was. The satisfying, though gut wrenchingly disgusting, taste of blood was almost at hand. There were so many that were drinking themselves into ignorant oblivion. Many of them were singing of times they hadn't lived through. Their ditties were punctured by random belches. I watched as other vile spew took pity on them, giving them a little cutter, which they would likely spend on more booze.

I followed one into an overpass. He fell over. The knife stabbed again. He finished his blurping burly warble. I applaud him, and he looked up at me with forlorn glazz. He obviously didn't notice that he had an audience. That suited me just fine. I cheered for him. He tried to get to his feet, but I pushed him back down with my foot.

"Can you spare some cutter, me brother?" he slurred out.

I raised an eyebrow. I crouched down, getting on his level. I held out a few notes. I pulled them away every time he reached for them. He repeated his question. Somewhere, behind the black smoke was a voice that told me to hand them over. I kid you not, my friends. I gave voice serious consideration. That was until I realised what I was thinking.

"Spare me some cutter."

I guff at him. Did he really think that I would just hand it over? The hard sole of my horrorshow boots connected with his face. The veck coughed out blood that stank of alcohol. The ones that were following me kept their distance. I didn't know if it was because they didn't want to get involved or not. Even my vile spew didn't have a spine. I would make sure they were punished for that.

My horrorshow boots broke two ribs. The beautiful melody of the blows landing rang through the night. No one came to his rescue. It didn't matter how much he yelled or begged, everyone ignored him. And when they find him, they would blame themselves. How I love the way the retched blemishes thing. They always screamed for justice, but never did anything to make it happen.

"Go a head and kill me, you cowardly sack," he shouted before vomiting up a bucket load of cheap beer and blood. "I want to die, anyway."

I tilted my head. Now I always did find this interesting. I kid you not, my friends. Why would a man, one that had everything to live for, want to die? What could possibly be so bad in his life that he would want it to end?

"There's nothing left in this ravage and lifeless existence! Nothing but idiotic youngsters, like yourself who prey on the weak." A belch and more vomit escaped his mouth. "Seeing what you spineless hooligans do is enough to make anyone want to die."

Should I give this old fool what he wanted? Does anyone truly believe they want to die? I kicked him one last time in the litso before I moved on. Killing someone who wanted it was nothing more than a mere waste. It left the taste of the blood feeling empty.

I left the overpass. People that had heard the cries watched as I walked out. None of them had the yarbles to do anything about it. I would give my left one for someone to do something. For someone to do anything. They chumbled to themselves as they carried on with their lives. Not one of them bothered to see if the ded was breathing. I wasn't going to say anything. These miserable piles of pus would have to think on their own. Their actions could cost a man his life.

I invited myself into an exclusive club. Nothing more than a mama-boy's hangout for the men. Ptitsas danced around in the most merzky way possible. They were without shame about their bodies. One could almost smell the sin in this sort of establishment. Yet it continued to drag in the lost and lonely. In hopes they would get a taste of the soomka. What nazzes they are for believing that.

I take a seat in the darkest corner. I thought of new ways to enjoy the nochy. I hadn't notice it earlier. But it was real cold like; a bastard of a winter evening. A waiter swaggered over to me, ready to take my order. I hold up three fingers. He looked confused, and I was ready to punch him in forsaken litso if it didn't click. He grinned, nodded and walked off.

The reason why I enjoyed this bar more than anywhere else is simple. It was the only place one like me could get his hands on krovvy moloko. I kid you not, my friends. For a price, they would find anyone. It wouldn't take them long to get a virgin in here, and bleed her or him into the moloko. There were many types. But I always enjoyed a little of the old fashioned vellocet to get the nochy going. It was still young.

I waited for my drink to arrive. When it finally did, I slipped the waiter a few extra notes. "Been here all night, haven't I?"

The waiter looked perplexed, and for the love of everything holy, I was seconds from snapping and knocking some smarts into him. He nodded, finally catching on. "Of course, sir."

The moloko was fresh, as it always was. But tonight it smelled even more delicious. That might have been because I was anticipating what would follow after it. I rest back, smirking. One could imagine all he wanted. With vellocet moloko, one could do everything he imagined.

I tried to enjoy my moloko. That was until a certain malchick entered. He was one that I was never really happy to see. And I knew that the feeling was mutual. We always did something that annoyed each other. Even existing. There was a reason for that. I just wished I knew what it was. He was someone that I desire.

I kid you not, my friends. There was something magically misunderstood about him. And it had nothing to do with his past. Though that was reflected in his glazz. He was the one that would likely kill me if he knew about my nights of ultra-violence.

He walked up to me. Much like I did with my entrance into the bar, he sat across from me. He doesn't say or do anything. I was expecting him to have smelled the vellocet in the moloko. He probably had. But he wasn't going to bring it up. It would seem there was something more pressing on his mind. Not that he was going to have it for much longer.

Behind him I could see the Millicent entering. They flashed their badges. I had no idea what they were doing in there. This little bar, conveniently named 'Hole in the Wall', wasn't exactly known for its legal business. The vellocet wasn't even close to legal.

They approached me. The malchick that had entered raised an eyebrow. He seemed almost amused to see how I would get myself out of this one. Little did they know that I had anticipated this. Granted, it was a lot swifter than I originally thought. I was thinking it would take them a few more minootas. One of the spineless idiots must have called it in. That was their version of being a 'good Samaritan'. Don't stop the problem directly. Just call someone else to clean it up.

"Something I can help the rozzies with today?" I asked innocently. The malchick frowned.

One Millicent straightened his tie. Acting innocent seemed to put them off guard. Something I could happily use against them. Or it might have been because I called him a 'rozz' to his face. If he even understood what it meant. The malchick had no idea, and that was the way I wanted to keep it. They didn't understand how normal people think. They would have no hope in hell of understanding me. A little trait I kept in check. I had to make sure there was wasn't anything they wouldn't think I would do.

"Well, we were called out to an incident that took place not too long from here. A lot of people say they say you leaving the scene," the younger rozz said. I admired his guts. How badly I wanted to rip them, and put them on display.

I shrugged. What else could I do? If anyone had seen me, they didn't seem worried about what I had done. "What sort of scene?"

"There was a hospitalisation. A vagrant was nearly beaten to death."

My, my, my. I really did a number on him. I wasn't complaining. After all, I didn't give him what he wanted. He would live long enough to see how much worse the world could get. I knew it could get better, but that wasn't likely to happen.

"That sounds terrible. Only a monster would do something like that. Unfortunately, I have been here all night. Please ask my waiter, if you don't believe me." I raised my glass to them. They would ask him.

"I don't think that's necessary." Or they could surprise me, and take my word for it.

It was moments like these that made me think there was a little faith to be put into the vile spew, my friends. They tipped their hats at me. The malchick stayed where he was. I knew he didn't believe me.

But did that bother me? He thought I was lower than shit. And he was probably right. Did that bother me? I would lie to anyone, I would lie to myself and to my closest droog. But I would never lie to you, my friends. The fact that the malchick is right about something does bother me. Anyone like me was considered lowly. Like we asked to be like this.

"What else do you have planned for the night?" the malchick inquired, leaning back.

I smirked at him. He could act as casual as he wanted. Did he honestly think I would tell him my plans? If I had any, I might have. But I was thankful that nights like these were the ones I wanted to play by ear. I finished my moloko. If he really wanted to know, he can follow me.

Instead, as I got to my feet, I said: "We shall viddy."

The malchick didn't seem to like that answer. That was up to him. If he truly thought I was responsible for that ded's injuries (which he did), then there wasn't anything I could say to change his mind. I wished there was a way to remove the thought of guilt from someone's mind.

He stood, also. He was curious. My, my, my. This nochy was going to be more fun than I ever thought. It would be his first time. A virgin when it came to a little of the old ultra-violence. I had to make sure this malchick never forgot his first time.

I told my seat again. He would need the number three krovvy moloko. The knife was already stabbing me. I ordered two more drinks. I knew he knew what sort of bar this is. He looked a little hesitant when his glass was placed in front of him. I raised my glass to the centre of the table, wanting to do a little toast before we started.

He picked his up, ready to clank them together. I pulled back slightly. "Only if you swear that you will not decide to take me down for it. Thou are doing this." I stared him in the eye. What beautiful orbs they were. He nodded. I clink our glasses together. "To the ultra-violence."


	3. ACO 3

**A Clockwork Orange**

* * *

The knife was stabbing him. He didn't know if he should accept it or… I kid you not, my friends. To viddy the malchick viddy the world through sharper eyes was truly horrorshow. He was nearly beside himself, waiting to see how this evening would play out. If only I could delve into his mind.

We left 'Hole in the Wall'. I never thought he would drink the moloko, my friends. He continues to surprise me. A little trait I must said I'm beginning to love about him. The way he walks, even with the vellocet in his veins. He is strong, and proud. I looked forward to knocking him down a few pegs.

The streets were beginning to clear up. Since my nights of ultra-violence had begun, people were scrambling to get home before eight in the evening. That worked fine for me. The less people there were, the less people I would have to kill. The less amount of evidence I would need to hide. Killing five or six of the vile spew was enough for one nochy. Killing more would be taking it a little too far. However, with my droog by my side, maybe twelve people would be okay.

We walked along until we were in an empty part of the city. The shops were closed for the nochy, and only building remained open. The biblio. Of course not many vile spew ever went there anymore. No one had enough time in their busy lives. There was an occasion when one might viddy another with a gazetta.

We viddy a starry veck moving our way. Without any slovo between us, we knew exactly what we would be doing. The starry veck, with thick otchkies didn't notice us approaching. He was too busy flipping through several books. He was dressed horrorshow like. All luscious glory like.

The starry veck finally noticed us. His watery eyes become worried. He had likely heard of the stories going around. The ones of nadsats attacking the population. Well, he'll find out they aren't just stories.

"What have you there, brother?" I ask, glancing down at the books. "Doing a spot of reading for the night, are you, brother?"

The malchick looked up and down the street. He wanted to make sure we wouldn't be disturbed. He took the book the veck was reading, and flipped through the pages. "A man like you shouldn't be reading such racy literature."

I took the other book from under his arm. They were old, hard cover tomes. Something that was rare to find these days. I stopped on a page. "My, my, my." I held it open so he could see the page. "You're nothing but a grazhny starry veck, aren't ya?"

"I-I-I have no idea what you mean," he stuttered, finally finding his voice. He didn't look at either of us, but kept his eyes on the books.

"You should see this one," the malchick said. "There's several grazhny slovos in here. One even begins with a c."

I tutted and shook my head. "A veck like you shouldn't be hiring things like these." I knew that I held 'How to Kill a Mockingbird'. But that didn't stop the knife from stabbing me.

"Surely you are mistaken," the starry veck said timidly.

"Doing this is a favour to you, brother," the malchick stated, as he began ripping out the pages of the book he possessed.

I followed suit. The veck was seconds from crying. "No, I don't own them. Please stop it."

The malchick finished with his pages first, and threw them up in the air. He danced around the veck, like a child dancing in the virgin snow. I added more snow for him, and punched the veck in the litso. He fell to the paper covered street, wiping away the blood on his goober.

The sole of my horrorshow boot came crashing down on the veck's ribs. You would think I'd have learnt my lesson, after being confronted by the rozz earlier. Sometimes I think I take minor actions to the extreme. Of course, a night of the old ultra-violence is something that can never be taken to the extreme.

The malchick stands beside me. We step back as the starry veck coughs up krovvy. I didn't want my boots to get dirty. Removing krovvy from vinyl was easy. But if it got into the soles, then I would be annoyed.

I stepped back. It would be the first that the malchick had ever attacked someone weaker than him. The first time he attacked an innocent. I was looking forward to the expression of delight on his litso.

The malchick stood over the veck, and slowly got down on his knees; one at a time. He took hold of the veck's tie, raising his upper body. His fist connected with the litso. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Like me with that drunken veck, the sounds of the ultra-violence rang through the night. It created a symphony that could only be beaten by Ludwig van Beethoven. I felt compelled to dance around. I restrained myself. The last thing the malchick needed was for me to let him go too far, and beat the starry veck to death.

That would voice the entire purpose of this nochy.

When the starry veck had spat out all but three teeth out, I placed a hand on the malchick's shoulder. He looked up at me. His angelic face was covered with spatters of krovvy. His eyes were wide, sharp, and ready for more. I felt a sense of pride.

"Drink now, before he carks it, little brother," I said.

He nodded. He sank his fangs into the starry veck's throat. He drank everything he could, and then stood. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I cleaned the corner with my tongue. The veck wasn't worth it. I needed to show him exactly what a nochy with me was like. There was still so much to do. I kid you not, my friends.

We checked the veck's pants and vest. He had a little cutter on him. It wasn't enough to warrant his death, but the malchick was hungry. I couldn't let my little brother starve. We needed something a little sweeter, though. I wanted to give him a reason not to judge me. That was how he lived his life. Now he couldn't. He is just as bad as I am.

"Come, little brother. The nochy is still young."

He glanced up and down the street. We viddy no witnesses, and continued on our way. We took a quick detour to pick up a vehicle. Where I was taking him would take too long, if travelling by foot.

We came across a young couple, who were leaving the sinny, with keys already in hand. They didn't want to be caught with their pants down (so to speak). We made sure they were alone in the car park. I took the man, while my malchick took the woman. He tore into her through with such savage precision; I felt the need to have sex right there. I didn't. Raping a corpse would be too low for me to sink.

Once we had finished out little feast, (those two were so much sweeter than the starry veck) I took the keys, and we were on our merry way. We sped along the streets, until we reach the country. The only way to see out here was via headlights. The malchick had never played this little game.

We drove on the opposite side of the road. There were quite a few cars still out in this area. They blared their horns at us, before they swerved off road. We howled with laughter. There could have been deaths, but did we care? What do you think, my friends?

We drive until there are no more lights. The darkness encased us. On the horizon I could viddy a speck of light. I doubted it was the sun, so that meant that there was likely a house located all the way out here. How lucky could we get? I turned off the headlights, and slowed the speed. We glanced at each other.

How would this play out? We had no maskies to conceal our identity. So we hunted through the car, hoping to find anything. We found five calico bags, and decided they would have to do. With our unnatural strength, we ripped holes them for eyes and a mouth. Once again, we didn't say a slovo, but we knew who would be doing what.

I went up to the front. The malchick hung back, waiting for my order. I looked around for a doorbell. There wasn't one. That was a might strange, I thought, kicking the door twice.

There wasn't an immediate answer. So I kicked it again. I could hear the click-click-click, followed by a _ding_. There were also footsteps heading towards the door. I decided to use one of my favourite rouses. The person was standing with their shoulder to the door. I thought it best to knock this time.

"Yes, who is it?" The voice wasn't too old, but it was by no means young.

"Excuse me, miss. I wonder if you could help us. There's been an accident, miss. And my brother is badly injured. I wonder if we might use your telephone to call the police, and an ambulance, miss," I said, sounding as heartbroken as possible.

"I'm dreadfully sorry. We don't have a telephone here. You might to try the youth hostel, about a mile down the road."

The clicking of the typewriter stopped. "Who is it, dear?"

"It's a young man. He says there's been some sort of accident. He wants to use our telephone," the devotchka replied as she wandered, leaving the door open.

The malchick sneaked up, all horrorshow like. I saw the chain that stopped from opening. I unhooked it with the stealth and precision that would have a thief's guild wanting to hire me. We went into the house. It was fancy like. We would make a lot of cutter from robbing this place.

The veck was sitting in front of a typewriter. He viddied us, as the devotchka had her back to us. The malchick cracked her on the back of the head. She fell to the polished wood floor like a sack of bricks. I went to work on the veck. I knocked him out of the chair. He laid on his side, staring up at us with fear. I knew I would be relishing in that look for months to come.

I crouched down, putting my face close to his. His blue eyes were lined with tears. He couldn't seem to find his voice, and beg us to leave them alone. His zheena came to. She sat up, rubbing the back of her head. I grinned and got to my feet. I would over to her. She squeaked, and the malchick grabbed her arms. She didn't bother to struggle. I liked that. But at the same time, I liked it when they fought back.

I began humming, running a hand down her cheek. She flinched, and tried to turn head away.

"I'm singing in the rain," I sang happily, kicking the veck in the gut. "Just singing in the rain."

The malchick snickered. I continued with my song, punching the devotchka in the litso. I jumped onto the desk that held the typewriter. I looked over what the veck was writing. It was some of play. He begged me not to touch his work. I grabbed the neat stack of papers. They were the only thing that was organised on the chaotic desk. I threw around all but a handful, which I tore to shreds. The veck went boo-hoo-hoo.

I guffed through the song. I picked up a pair of scissors. I went over to the veck's zheena. She screamed, and struggled to get away, fearful that I was going to kill her. That wouldn't happen until after the ole in-out-in-out. But they didn't know that. I cut off the pants she was wearing. Her eyes widened as she finally figured out what I was going to do to her. Her struggling became more frantic.

"Just singing in the rain." I hummed most of the song, as I cut off the rest of her clothing.

I kneed her in the gut. She fell to the floor again. I glanced at the malchick. "Make sure he can viddy all," I told him.

The malchick nodded. He kept hold of the veck, whose eyes went wider as I dropped my pants. I knelt in front of the veck, stilling humming. I point to his zheena. He knew exactly what I was gonna do, and that I was gonna have a lot of fun doing it.

"And I'm just singing in the rain," I finished as I went back over to the devotchka. The veck's scream echoed through the house when I penetrated her.

I could feel the malchick's eyes on me. I glanced at him. His eyes were trained on my body. He didn't care what I was doing. It seemed that he only wanted to see me naked. If he thought I would be spent after a simple in-out-in-out, he was going to be surprised. I could go for days. And the malchick was the one I wanted.

I finished with the devotchka quickly. The veck was crying, but so was his zheena. I pulled out of her, and pulled my pants up. I fixed the buckle of my belt in place. I stood in front of the veck.

"Why? What did we ever do to you?" the veck asked through his sobs.

"You exist. Vile spew like you should be wiped from this world," I answered. I nodded at the malchick. He smirked, and sank his fangs into the veck's throat. I did the same to the devotchka.

Once we had finished feasting (and they tasted so sweet), we left the house. We made our way back to civilisation. The malchick seemed to be lost in thought. I could speculate on what he was thinking. I was almost certain he had no idea. I wanted to ask him, but thought best not to. I didn't want to ruin this nochy I had with him, my friends.

* * *

Slang used:

Malchick = boy.  
Viddy = see.  
Moloko = milk.  
Droog = friend.  
Nochy = night.  
Biblio - library.  
Gazetta = newspaper.  
Starry = old/ancient.  
Veck = guy.  
Otchkies - glasses.  
Horrorshow = good.  
Nadsat = teenager.  
Grahzny = dirty.  
Slovo = word.  
Litso = face.  
Goober = lip.  
Rozz = police.  
Krovvy = blood.  
Cutter = money.  
Sinny = cinema.  
Maskies = masks.  
Devotchka = woman.  
Zheena = wife.  
Guff = laugh (short for guffaw).  
In-out-in-out = sex.

I don't usually reply to reviews, however I recently received one that I simply _had_ to respond to.  
Liz: I know it is of Russian/Slav origin, and that to someone who is fluent in Russian would believe that I had misspelled all the words. However, I have no misspelled any of the words. It is made-up slang, derived from Russian/Slav backgrounds. Some of it is even considered "gypsy". I am also aware that "nadsat" is the ending of the numbers 11-19. My friends and I used to speak like this in class so the teacher wouldn't know what we were saying, hence why I call it "slang". On the other hand, thank you for your review. Perhaps next time you could log in, so I can tell you this directly.


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